


As Long As It Takes

by Skalidra



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, How Do I Tag, JayTim Week 2016, M/M, Sharing a Body, Souls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7656115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ra's has always wanted Tim in one way or another, and finally, he succeeds. What he's not counting on is that Tim's a lot more stubborn than he was given credit for, and Jason's a whole lot more loyal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Long As It Takes

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to day 6 of this JayTim week (almost at the end!); Redemption! So, this idea is based off a wonderful piece of art (and explanation) that you can find right over here : http://skalidra.tumblr.com/post/145514327967
> 
> Enjoy!

Tim is screaming, and that's all that matters to him. He has to get there, he has to stop this, he has to save his partner and get him out of this hell before it's too late. It's _in sight_. He can see the table that Tim is strapped down against, the dark lines cut into his partner's skin, Ra's standing over him with a hand on his forehead that's glowing a dark green, and Tim is _screaming_.

He roars, backhands one of Ra's' minions hard enough to slam it to the floor and keep it there, but there's just more to take its place. Always someone else in his way, no matter how many he takes down or how efficient the rest of the family is at his sides. He knows he's getting dangerously close to using deadly force, but he can't stop himself, doesn't _want_ to. Not with Tim's life — and worse — on the line, not with that son of a _bitch_ leaning over him and transferring his _mind_ into Tim's body.

He just has to _get there_ to stop it. They were late finding out, late tracking him down, late getting into this fortress and he can't stomach the thought of being late again. Not for something this important. Not for _Tim_.

He flings aside a ninja, dives forward into the clear path he suddenly sees, and then Tim's scream suddenly just cuts off. He stares, the whole room _stares_ , as Ra's al Ghul crumbles to the floor like a puppet without strings. Then suddenly the ninjas are closing ranks, stepping in and forming a _wall_ that forces all of them back. It's shock more than anything else that lets them do it, but then there are hands on his arms, pulling him back a couple more steps as he stares over the heads of the minions.

One of the minions cuts the straps holding Tim down, and slowly that body that he knows as well as his own starts to push up. It's jerky, uncoordinated, head still falling back between his shoulder blades and then pulling up slow, mouth parting in a gasp he can hear across the otherwise silent room. Eyes open, and they're a brilliant, _painful_ green.

His heart stops.

The hands on his arms are tugging, trying to pull him away, and he just stares at those green eyes as _Ra's al Ghul_ climbs off the table in his boyfriend's body, in _Tim's_ body. Those eyes lock onto his, and Ti— Ra's' mouth curls into a wholly unfamiliar smirk, sharper and _cruel_ in a way that Tim's never were, even in play or true anger.

"Todd," hisses a voice — Damian's, the back of his mind tells him — and the hand on his left arm yanks hard enough to unbalance him. "Todd we _must go_ ; it is too late for Drake and if we do not go we will be just as dead as he is. Move!"

And then it's Dick at his other side, squeezing his arm and speaking lower, quieter than Damian so it's barely even audible. "Jason, he's right. We can't go up against an army and… and Tim's gone. We need to leave while we have the chance, while Ra's is still adjusting."

His whole gut just _seizes_ at that idea. " _No_ ," he spits, yanking his arms out of their hands. Damian's are harder to shake off but he manages it. "I'm not leaving."

"Jason, we have to go!" Dick insists, and he can hear the pain in Dick's voice but it's nothing compared to what's in his chest, what's bubbling under his skin and making him _hurt_.

"So _go!_ " he snarls, turning on Dick. "I'm not leaving him. I _won't_."

"My grandfather will kill you," Damian breathes, sounding frustrated and reluctant and _hurt_.

And he finds he doesn't care. "So I die," he answers, letting his voice be just as quiet. "But if there's a shred of Tim still in there, if there's _any_ way to save him… I can't leave. _Fuck_ , Dick, you know I can't. If—” He swallows, glancing back up at Ra's, who is straightening up and examining his body, fingers sliding over skin in a way that shouldn't feel as intimate as it does. "If he kills me, you'll know. Do whatever you have to. But if he doesn't… I won't leave Tim alone to face this."

Dick's face hardens, softens, and then one solid hand is squeezing his shoulder hard enough to bruise, _screaming_ the words Dick won't say with their enemies present.

"Go," he murmurs, not reaching up to comfort Dick or to push him away. He can't do that either. "Change _everything_ ; we don't know if he has any of Tim's memories, or— All the security. _Fix it_."

Dick hesitates for half a second, but then Ra's is turning back towards them, and Dick _moves_. Grabs Damian by the arm and books it out of there, reining in the rest of their family while he does. He doesn't look back to make sure they're gone; Ra's' eyes are fixed on him again and he can't help but meet the look, can't help but hold it.

Slowly, he sheathes his weapons, letting his hands fall away from them and just stands there, staring up towards his partner and his enemy in the same body, in the same _mind_ , hopefully. God, what is he going to do if Tim isn't in there?

Ra's moves forward, gait not a match for the graceful, slinking way he used to move in the larger body, but he bets that will change with a bit of practice. The ninjas part in front of their new leader, and he stays still as Ra's walks up to him. Stays still as Ra's circles him, studying and picking him apart from the new height, the new angle. Or maybe just putting together why it is he stayed while everyone else ran.

"Tim," he starts, after a stretch of silence, "are you—?"

And Ra's strikes, sinking a _hard_ punch into his gut that makes him stagger back, and then a quick jab that kicks one leg out from under him and brings him to a knee. Instinct wants to retaliate but he strangles it back, clenches his hands to fists but doesn't fight as Ra's' hands find the catch for his helmet with ease and pull it off of him. _Harsh_ nails rake across his face, ripping the domino from it too, and he grits his teeth but lets it happen. He _won't_ hurt Tim; not ever, not even with Ra's riding him.

Ra's grabs a handful of his hair, _wrenches_ his head back, and there's the flick of steel at his throat. He keeps himself utterly still, not daring to even swallow against the sting of whatever blade is against his skin, his gaze still locked with Ra's'. Damian might have been right, this might be a special kind of suicide, but he just… Tim _has_ to still be in there.

" _Please_ , babe," he whispers. "Just give me _something_."

That mouth that he's seen smile a thousand times smirks instead, and the blade under his chin presses a little harder. " _Todd_ …” Ra's drawls, like he's tasting the word. There's a kind of silken smoothness to it that Tim's never had in his voice; different patterns, different accent. "You have been an annoyance for quite some time, boy. Thank you for so kindly offering me the chance to end your life a second time; I admit I've thought about it many times."

The blade trails down, scraping across his skin, and it stings but he bears it.

"How best to make you _scream_ for attempting to possess what was always mine, for daring to _touch_ it." Ra's yanks his head back a little further, makes him bend and arch his throat to stay up. "Then again, as I have you so very _willing_ , I suppose the simplest way would be best. Put you in the ground once more; make the Detective lose a second son this day."

The knife twists, point digging in just below his chin, and he draws in a sharp breath at the feeling of his skin splitting. He can feel blood swell immediately, feel it slide down his neck, feel the sting as that knife digs a little deeper.

And then it's gone.

He blinks, looking down in confusion, and Ra's is just holding it, watching him. There's something just a little distant in those green eyes, something maybe just a little bit unnerved. He stares at it, as Ra's stares at him, and then suddenly he's being shoved down by the hand in his hair to sprawl over the floor. It's not a graceful landing, but it's not a very hard push either. He recovers, looks up, in time to catch the little sneer that Ra's flashes, the little narrowing of eyes that's not _aimed_ at anyone.

 _Tim_.

He swallows his pride, buries it under love and need and __begs, "Please," loud enough for the whole room to hear. "Please, let me serve you."

Ra's focuses on him again, mouth flat and hard once more. "It's not me you care to serve, Todd. Why should I allow you to stand at my side when you only have loyalty to this shell of a body, not me?"

"I'll do whatever you want," he promises, bows his head and curls his hands against the stone floor. "Just let me stay, please. I'll be yours."

A hand curls under his chin, dragging his head up. Ra's studies him for a moment, picking apart layers so he does his best to just show exactly what he's feeling. Pain, grief, a beaten sort of anger, and _love_. Enough to make anyone do the crazy, stupid shit he's trying to pull off here. He just needs Ra's to believe that he wants this more than he wants any kind of revenge, and that he would follow Tim no matter what, through anything. It helps that both those things are true.

Another moment, before Ra's asks, quiet and venomous, "Would you kill for me, broken bird?"

He freezes, and then finds himself breathing, "No. I— I swore to him I'd stop. I'd break that on his order, but not yours."

Ra's lets go of his chin, but that thumb slides up, swiping over his bottom lip. "Then I will have to find other ways of testing your loyalty. After all, such a tainted dog as you cannot be trusted by merely his word. Actions are more impressive anyway." A step back, and then Ra's is whirling and striding back across the room, one hand flicking idly back towards him. "We'll start with a bit of obedience training. You two, strip him, bind him, but leave him able to walk."

He forces himself to breathe evenly as the two subordinates approach him, submitting to the order without a fight. That's what Ra's wants.

* * *

He doesn’t fight when Ra’s whips him, hard and unrelenting until he can feel the blood sliding down his back. He screams and cries and then just whimpers when he can’t do even that anymore, but he doesn’t fight. Pain is nothing new to him, and though it aches a bit to have it come at the hands of his partner — in a way — it’s not something bad enough to make him break what he’s promised Ra’s.

When he follows Ra’s around for the next two days, despite the fire of his back and the threatening delirium of stress and pain, Ra’s seems to accept the fact his loyalty, while not for _him_ , is unshakeable.

It’s probably him blacking out at the foot of Ra’s’ throne — brushing against one richly clothed leg because he can _almost_ imagine it’s still Tim — that cements Ra’s’ belief in his submission. At least to start with.

He comes awake to fingers in his hair, stroking idly as he shivers and sweats, somehow still propped back against the throne despite how he feels about as strong as a limp noodle, and he can’t stop _shaking_. But when he looks up Ra’s’ green eyes are merely watching him, something soft in their depths and he can see Tim in that expression, he can see his _partner_. So he tilts his head into the fingers, tries to ignore the pain of his back, and holds Ra’s’ gaze as long as he can manage before he starts to fade again.

When next he wakes he’s in Ra’s’ bedroom, lying on his stomach in the middle of the bed — which Ra’s has vehemently _never_ allowed him on before — with a strange tightness around his ribs and the heat of a body sitting beside him, fingers in his hair again. The tightness turns out to be bandages, the heat is Ra’s.

Ra’s informs him that he’s been foolish, that he has a fever and is to wait it out until Ra’s orders otherwise. And then, fingers trailing over his forehead, tells him, _“Yes. You can stay.”_

He heals, and he becomes Ra’s’ shadow.

He notices the first time that Ra’s wears his hair up in a small ponytail, bangs in his face, but doesn’t say anything. He notices when Ra’s’ choice of clothing slips further towards militaristic and practical, and away from gaudy shows of gold and green, but he doesn’t say anything. He _notices_ the first time that Ra’s calls him ‘Jason’ instead of ‘Todd’ or ‘boy,’ but keeps his mouth firmly shut and doesn’t let himself react to it with anything more than instant obedience. Maybe even a bit more enthusiastic obedience than deserved.

Ra’s never asks him to kill — to hurt, and to _supervise_ death, yes, but never to do the deed himself — and he finds the rest of what Ra’s wants to be simple enough. Even when those wants are degrading, he kneels or obeys as directed, and swallows away what pride he has. If Ra’s wants him to beg, or kneel, or lie at his feet, that’s what he does.

Because there are all these small things that distinctly do not _feel_ like Ra’s. Little slips of personality and choices that sound much more like his brilliant, strategic, _kind_ partner, and he’s willing to suffer any degradation to keep the hope alive that Tim is somewhere inside of that body too. In the little soft moments of Ra’s looking at him he sees Tim behind those eyes, and that’s _enough_.

That’s more than enough.

Then there’s the day that Ra’s is straightening up from his desk, pen down and papers of all kinds in neat, orderly piles — if they look a lot like Tim’s method of organization, well, that’s probably not coincidence — and stops to give a tight groan, one hand falling to press at his low back. Pain is clear on that now entirely familiar face for a moment, before it’s shuttered away behind walls.

He’s leaning back against the desk — where he can be attentive, but can’t see Ra’s’ business — and he recognizes that little movement. It takes him a second to figure out the words so he can mention, “I can fix that.”

Ra’s turns his head, looking down at him with one raised eyebrow, hand still pressed to his back. “Oh?” He nods, tilting his head back against the desk, and Ra’s’ disbelief turns to curiosity. “Very well. At the bed then.”

Despite a little grimace of pain, Ra’s gets up and walks over to the bed, and he follows just a couple moments behind, after getting back to his feet. Slowly, waiting for any kind of rejection, he undoes the clasps on Ra’s’ cloak — armored; _practical_ — and sets it aside, then moves to strip Ra’s out of the mottled green and black shirt and the layer of armor beneath. Once Ra’s is bare from the waist up, the other man steps forward and gets on the bed, moving to near the middle of it and sitting in a loose cross-legged position.

It startles him for a moment, how exactly the same Ra’s looks, except for the curving scars from the ritual cuts that started all of this. He brushes past it in the next moment, considering the sight of Ra’s’ back and whether he can do what he wants to like this. The answer, he decides, is only sort of. It would be good enough, but not _great_ like he wants it to be.

“Got any kind of oil lying around?” he asks, and Ra’s gives a confirming hum of sound and flicks one hand towards the low bedside table. He collects a small jar from within its single drawer, and then crawls over to sit at Ra’s’ back, unscrewing the lid of the jar so he can dip his fingers in.

The oil inside smells sharp, herbal, but it’s not a scent he can immediately name, and he doesn’t quite want to ask Ra’s what it is. Not with a more important task ahead of him.

He slicks his hands up, rubbing them together to warm it up and keeping the open jar held carefully in the crook of one of his legs so it doesn’t fall. Ra’s waits, patiently, until he thinks the oil will be comfortably warm to the touch, and then he runs his palms up the length of Ra’s’ back, to either side of his spine. He snorts at the tense, hard muscles of that back, and the painful feeling knots that his hands discover as he explores. Ra’s’ head bows about half an inch, but he’s not told to stop which means Ra’s must be enjoying himself.

“You’re a little bit of a mess,” he comments, working his thumbs into either side of Ra’s’ spine, near his low back. Then he adds, “This is more efficient if you lie down.”

He doesn’t expect Ra’s to actually do it, but then the next moment his hands pause Ra’s is shifting away, carefully lying down on his stomach with his head turned to one side. He stares, then shoves aside the surprise and shifts enough that he can lean down over Ra’s’ back and put some of his weight behind his hands. Ra’s gives a nearly inaudible groan, and he feels a flush of warm pride up his chest.

“I actually wasn’t expecting you to do it,” he confesses.

Ra’s makes a drawling sound of amusement, but stays still beneath his hands. “Why not?” is the counter. “You are hopelessly in love with a ghost, Jason. Therefore you are about as dangerous to me as a puppy; blunt claws and a loud bark with no weight or strength to enforce your empty words. You would sooner die yourself than harm me, you have proven that already.”

“So you’re saying that you’re only letting me do this because you think I’m totally harmless.”

Another sound of amusement, softer this time. “I did not say harmless. I said harmless _to me_. You are an exquisitely dangerous specimen, Jason. It’s a shame I didn’t get the chance to mold you when you were still an impressionable youth; I could have created such a glorious weapon out of the potential in you, all bound at my heel.”

“I think I turned out pretty damn good all on my own,” he comments, and then he feels a little bit of the tension in that low back ease, and instead of another response Ra’s only gives a sighing groan. He works for a few more minutes, and then murmurs, “You should get this done more often; maintenance, you know?”

“The people trusted with my back are few and far between. Are you volunteering?”

He pauses for a moment at that casual admission, that _he_ is one of the people that Ra’s trusts to be at his back. “If that’s what you want,” he answers noncommittally, as he’s learned. Ra’s tends to withdraw and deny him things when he shows that he actively wants to do them, but seems to actively enjoy making him do things he doesn’t. It’s a strange balance, like Ra’s is still passively trying to scare him away.

Ra’s gives a small noise of understanding, and then orders, “Finish your work, then we’ll see.”

He obeys, letting himself sink into the familiar sensation of rubbing tension out of this particular back. Tim took questionably good care of himself a lot of the time, and this was just one of those small things that he got used to doing. Plus Tim, flexible and relaxed again instead of a ball of tension, was a lot more fun. He’s certainly never been accused of being selfless before, that’s for sure, and getting to turn Tim into a relaxed puddle fully willing to curl up with him was definitely a bonus.

“How did this become one of your talents?” Ra’s asks eventually, when he’s worked out most of the most stubborn knots and is digging into the smaller ones.

He considers how much to tell Ra’s, and then simply opts for honesty. It’s gotten him through most of this already. “Tim’s back was always a mess,” he answers, softening his touch for a moment in memory. “It’s just a lot of practice, mostly, and I know this back probably better than my own. Makes it easier.”

Ra’s makes another of those sighing groans, and he lets his mouth curl in a bit of a smile, before giving a soft snort.

“You know, no offense, but I don’t really get why you picked Tim to be your new body. I get the whole respect thing, and the intelligence and all that, but it’s not like you _got_ any of that. You got a teenager with no spleen, a shitty back, and below average height.” Ra’s doesn’t immediately offer an answer, so, pressing his luck, he pushes on. “I mean, _fuck_ , why not me?”

“You are tainted by the Lazarus Pit,” Ra’s murmurs.

He can’t help the second snort. “That’s a little hypocritical, don’t you think? But that wasn’t my point and you know it.”

“My decisions are not yours to question.” The tone is a warning, but Ra’s still doesn’t move away from his hands so it falls a little flat.

He decides to listen anyway. “Alright.”

He must not sound convincing, because then Ra’s is pushing up on one arm, twisting to look at him with narrowed eyes and a flat mouth. “I am not your lover, Jason,” Ra’s reminds him, voice low and firm, but not really _cruel_ even though the words feel like it. “He is not here, and if you dare to treat me like him I will ensure that you regret it. What I do and why I do so is not your concern; is that clear enough?”

A bow of his head in concession seems to satisfy Ra’s, gets the other man to lie back down, but he can’t quite manage to keep his mouth shut and just let things be. “You are though, you know.”

“Are what?” Ra’s asks, sounding just a bit irritated.

“Tim.” Ra’s stiffens beneath his hands, and he rubs his thumbs into either side of that spine and just quietly says, “You call me Jason now, not Todd; you don’t hurt me anymore, not at the level you used to; your choice in tactics and levels of punishment is much less bloody; and your clothes aren’t nearly as gaudy as they used to be. You hardly look like yourself anymore, Ra’s.” He snorts at his own joke, and then comments, “You might not be him, but he’s sure as hell in there somewhere, and he’s changing you. You picked the wrong person to try and take over.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and then Ra’s questions, “How long will you insist on chasing this ghost?”

He breathes out, letting his hands pause as he closes his eyes for a second. Then he gives a crooked smile — Ra’s won’t see it at this angle — and answers, “As long as I have to; until it comes back.”

The sound Ra’s makes is definitely irritated, but the tension beneath his hands drains away. “Finish your work, _Jason_.”


End file.
